NO BETA WE DIE LIKE ZAROFF

by Skinzuns12thToe

Summary:

I dislike every fic I’ve read under TMDG so I made one myself:

Rainsford succeeded with exterminating Zaroff, but, now there was nothing for him to do. There is no one else on this island with him, he has no way home, and he is now….a killer.

After wandering to the kitchen table, the doors to the manor burst open, with the rugged, panicked, and desperate Whitney, who had been searching for Rainsford since he noticed he had mysteriously disappeared.

They return to their journey to Rio, but Rainsford has changed. In the place of the infamous hunter, who had single handedly killed leopards, and tracked mountain goats up mountains and across lands, now stood a man, quiet and lost.

Notes:

I’ve never written a fanfic before, go easy on me… I update all over the place don’t expect this to ever have a normal schedule… <3

Chapter 1: A New Dawn

The Mansion was silent when Rainsford awoke. Only the distant sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze and birds chirping reached his ears, though he felt too numb to notice. Even the dogs, who by now would have been yipping and howling for their breakfast to be provided, were silent. His body ached all over, thorn pricks and scrapes littered his body, just adding to his discomfort.

He moved slowly as he rose from the bed, as if the weight of the world was holding him down. Sluggishly, with the sheets still tangled in his legs, he looked at himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that General Zaroff housed in his bedroom. He was bruised and battered, looking more like a beaten circus animal than the high and mighty hunter he had once been. His legs and arms bore the worst of it, the most notable being the large gash tearing itself from his shoulder down to his wrist, which he got trying to climb back to shore, as he lost his grip on a particularly slippery rock he had torn open his skin, resulting in such an obvious wound.

His whole body felt sticky; the dried salt water that coated him made his skin feel dry but slimy, like he had been dipped in a vat of snail slime. He dusted his clothes off like it would help, before deciding the rough clothing felt terrible, quickly changing into one of the General´s finer evening suits, one just like the one he had been provided when he first arrived on this damned island.

He walked aimlessly for quite some time, though he did not know how long, all he knew was that the sun was set high in the sky when he wandered into the kitchens. He ate what he found, a variety of exotic fruits, but he quickly lost his appetite when his mind wandered to how the fruits he so graciously was devouring could have been from one of the wrecked ships that had been lured to the island.

The dining hall was next, a wave of unwanted memories erupting in his mind, he could still imagine the form of Zaroff in one of the seats as Ivan stood beside him, as the devilish man spoke of hunting his own kind.

Unexpectedly, he heard footsteps. It sounded like a pack of animals bounding after a fleeing animal. A sharp pang of terror suddenly struck Rainsford in the chest as he brandished a steak knife that had been laid on the table. Could it have been Ivan? Could his trap have malfunctioned, had Ivan lived, and was now after his scent with the Generals' pack of dogs? No, it couldn't have been possible. He had watched the damn thing hit its target, and Ivan would not recover. He couldn't.

Who could possibly be on the island with him? More sailors? Could Zaroff´s wretched plan have claimed another lost ship's crew?

´No.´ He told himself, ´I must be ready for anything.´

He steeled his expression; his once expressive eyes dimmed of their color, one could almost compare them to the blackness seen in the one and only General Zaroff. His white knuckled grip on the knife never faltered, his hand wavering slightly in its forward position, before he quickly righted himself.

He didn't dare utter a word at the invading footsteps; the thundering sounds of boots thumping against the ground approaching rapidly had him silenced, and soon, the front doors of the estate were thrown open.

¨RAINSFORD!!¨

A booming voice hollered, an almost desperate edge cutting through the loudness, and the murmurs of the men behind the one front and center.

It was…Whitney.

Their eyes locked instantly, Whitney´s wild, wide eyes softened minutely when he looked at Rainsford. Rainsford froze, the sound of the knife clattering to the floor in the silence of the grand hall like a gunshot. His arm was still in position, as if locked in place by the tension in the room.

¨Rains….Rainsford, what…¨

Whitney breathed, he sighed as if the heaviest of tensions had been eradicated from his body.

Whitney stepped once, then twice, and before Rainsford could count his steps, the man was across the room, rough hands on Rainsford's shoulders, as he looked him over. As soon as Whitney placed his hands on his shoulders, the weight he felt in his chest lifted, the darkness in his eyes faded, and the sting of untreated wounds tore through his weary body.

¨My gods, Rainsford! What has happened to you!?¨ Whitney had to resist the urge to shake him, to demand answers for his sudden disappearance and reappearance in this strange estate. But for now, he resisted, his need to care for his friend outweighing his curiosity.

¨You…you look like an animal!¨ Whitney loosened his grip on Rainsford's shoulders, the pained clench of his jaw all he needed to know.

Rainsford was sat down in an instant, though still he did not speak.

¨You´re pale as a ghost my friend, you need medical attention this instant!¨ Whitney hauled him up, one arm under his arm as if he couldn't use his legs, and began to walk him out.

They strode out of the estate and into the damp forest, Rainsford's expression souring when he laid eyes on the dense greenery, the overhanging trees casting shadows over the pair. As long as Whitney was with him he would be fine, is what he told himself, the stillness is what is bothering him.

The boat was the same one he had fallen from, the same boat that had driven away from him as he cried out for help.

He felt relief, the ship had not crashed into the sharp rocks by the shore, sparing them all from the fate of being stranded on this island for years more. He could not shake the discomfort of imagining Whitney eating in Zaroff´s chair, Sleeping in Zaroff's bed, and indulging in Zaroff's liquor without knowing the truth of this sinful place.

Finally, when they boarded the ship, the crew close behind, Rainsford slumped into Whitney, a choked, grating rasp escaped Rainsford´s throat.

¨Whitney…¨ he called, only loud enough for his savior himself to hear. Whitney looked at him with a tight expression, how could this proud man, the one who he had been conversing with less than a week ago become so…different?

Whitney didn't speak, but Rainsford knew the thoughts rushing through his head. He didn't say anything.

Whitney didn't dare put Rainsford in his own rooms, instead he headed straight for his own, placing the man on his clean silk sheets and giving him a once-over.

¨You look absolutely rancid, and you smell of salt water. When was the last time you bathed? Rainsford, what in the nine hells happened on that island?¨ Whitney demanded, but he received no response. At the silence, he let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes pressed shut before they opened to look at Rainsford´s downturned ones.

¨Rainsford.¨

Whitney began, a minute stutter in his voice as he reached down to place his hands on his shoulder. The evening suit Rainsford had put on was crinkled, the pocket square missing from his breast pocket, and juice from the fruit he had eaten previously had spilled over the white dress shirt beneath, plastering it to his chest. He still had open wounds, so his jacket and shirt were soon discarded on the floor as Whitney took a long look at the festering injuries, which were still caked with salt water, crusty and red. Whitney opened the liquor cabinet, kneeling to open the bottom and retrieve a medkit.

¨This will sting.¨ Whitney spoke softly, the medkit open in one hand as he shook a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, a cloth in the other. He walked over, the boat swaying slightly with the waves. He loomed over Rainsford, the sharp shadows casted by the oil lamps in the windowless room made the pallor of Rainsford´s skin seem even worse, making it seem as if his peach skin had turned gray. The darkness under his eyes wasn't a good sign of sleep either, especially with how the man's eyes dropped slightly as he blinked up at him.

Whitney lifted one of Rainsford´s arms, dabbing the alcohol onto the wounds. The sting felt distant, like he was falling to the bottom of the ocean, and the pain was the distant light of a lighthouse. He closed his eyes as Whitney dabbed his wounds with the soft cloth, before wrapping them in cotton and gauze. When his arms were finished, then came his chest. It only had a few itching cuts, but still, it was quite ... .awkward having another man touch his chest so intimately.

Thankfully for both Whitney and Rainsford alike, it didn't last long. Unfortunately for both Whitney and Rainsford, his legs were next. And they were the worst of all. It was as if a wild animal had attacked his legs, cuts, scrapes, a few barbs still embedded in his skin, ones he didn't have the energy to remove.

Whitney got on his knees, the plush carpet cushioning his legs as he lifted one of Rainsford´s feet, making sure that his hands remained steady and calm, though the slight tremor in his movements suggested otherwise.

His face was concentrated, but it was nothing more than a facade as he prayed to whatever gods that were listening that Rainsford would not notice the flush of his ears and neck. He shook his head quickly, making sure his rugged brown hair fell forward to cover his ears. His neck, however, he had no way to hide.

They stewed in silence, the sound of cloth to rough skin the only noise either of them were paying attention to. The boat had begun to stir, dragging them back out to sea, the island fading into the far distance in no time. Waves crashed outside of the ship, rocking enough to knock Whitney´s hand off Rainsford´s leg.

He braced himself on the side of the mattress beneath Rainsford, the shaking of his hands unable to be kept as his face neared Rainsford´s upper thigh dangerously so, his hot breath ghosting over the pale expanse of skin. His hair fell forward with him, the tips of his burning ears poking out past his mop of hair.

He was a man who took care of himself, he was not dirty in any manner. Though he preferred to keep his layered brown hair down. But now that seemed like a terrible mistake to him. For what else made him look so ravaged just from a simple rock of a boat?

¨Ha…¨ Whitney let out a bout of strained laughter, not daring to look up and see if Rainsford had opened his eyes. He sat still for quite some time, willing his hands into submission, but even so, there was a relentless tremor that plagued them.

By the end, Rainsford´s entire body was covered in white, his legs bearing the brunt of the white cloth. His other wounds were dressed properly, each wound getting its own wrapping, but his calf and thighs? They were completely wrapped as if rushed.

´I look like a mummy.´ Rainsford thought, a minute smirk tugging at his lips, before it was rudely torn off at the sound of Whitney´s voice.

¨You should clean yourself up.¨ He said, as he packed his things back into his medkit, shuffling over to place it under the cabinet once more.

¨ Alright.¨ Rainsford groaned as he stood, shaking his head slightly to fling the stray strands of hair out of his face. He stumbled over to the connecting bathroom, turning on the water and watching it for quite some time before he remembered he had left the door open, to which Whitney was standing.

Neither said anything as Whitney gently closed the door, a concerned expression on his face, one he was clearly trying to conceal. The cold water comforted Rainsford´s battered body, each drop of icy water a mercy.

He cleaned himself, making sure to avoid the gauze to the best of his ability. It was almost endearing that Whitney had been so concerned that he had immediately patched him up without thought.

Once he left the chilling embrace of the shower, he walked forward with relaxed steps as once again he stared at himself in the mirror.

He looked far better than when he had earlier that same day. Dark, wet hair plastered to his head and the nape of his neck, a few unruly strands that had already dried stuck up like antennae. His expression was lighter, clearly from Whitney’s gentle ministrations. The towel he had wrapped around his waist hung low, his hipbones peaking out of the cotton wrappings.

His feet slapped against the cold marble floors, leaving wet footprints on the stone beneath him. The door handle creaked slightly as he opened the dark wood door, the bedroom he had just been lying in coming into full view. The room has one large king-sized bed and a large sofa, both covered in expensive pillows.

Whitney was standing in the middle of the room, changing out of his suit. His pants were folded neatly in the hamper, belt rolled and placed atop the dresser. He turned his head to look at Rainsford, in only his silk dress shirt which was only being held closed by a button or two, and his breeches.

Rainsford fell still for a moment, staring at Whitney. It felt odd to look at a man like this, so bare, so unguarded. And to Rainsford’s surprise, air had a newfound charge to it. In all the years of their friendship, Rainsford had never felt this electricity in his body that seemed to flow from Whitney´s form.

He shook his head, hoping to dispel the treacherous thoughts that began to weasel their way through Rainsford´s skull and into his mind. He was pure in ways of the heart, and he would not let these fleeting emotions push away his savior and ruin his most meaningful relationship.

He stepped into the room, not a word slipping past his lips as he slumped onto the couch, one arm cushioning his head while the other hung limp.

Whitney sat by his legs, offering Rainsford a cigar, an offer the weary man could not refuse. He lifted the cigar to his lips, watching as a puff of smoke slithered up, licking the ceiling. He watched the smoke until it dissipated, as if that alone could clear his clouded mind.

Neither spoke, Whitney because he wished to speak of Rainsford's incredibly strange circumstances, and Rainsford because he simply was not in the mood to open his mouth.

They sat like that for quite some time, Whitney putting his cigar out long before Rainsford, as the man rested his eyes for a moment. When Rainsford finally sat up, his cigar almost burned through, Whitney was out cold. He snored softly, barely a sound coming from his lips as his chest rose and fell just as softly.

Rainsford did his best not to wake Whitney, slipping off the plush couch with ease, holding the towel around his waist in one hand as he dragged his feet across the carpet until he reached his destination, his own room.

The room wasn't lit, the only light that reached inside being from the door he had just opened to expose the luxurious interior, and that was nothing more than a crack. He was just about to step forward when he spotted his most prized kill above the headboard, a tough mountain lion that had taken ages to hunt even with the help of dogs. It used to be a symbol he looked upon with pride, but now, as a sliver of light shone on its dead eyes, he felt a jolt of terror reign free throughout his entire body.

He stood in place as the sight of Zaroff´s dead body being dragged by his own hands flashed through his mind. At the time, he had felt nothing, but now, as the hours passed and he began to come back to himself, he felt as accursed as the most heinous of devils.

His knees buckled, the force of his own weight bearing down on his fresh wounds made him see white, a silent scream escaping his throat. He laid on his knees until the searing pain fizzled out into a dull, throbbing ache. His sluggish body invevitably managed to drag itself to a stand, even if he had to bite down on his cheek to stand the burning sensation that spread up his body every time he moved his knees.

He waddled back into Whitney´s bedroom, watching the lanky, lithe man sleep for a few quiet moments before practically throwing himself onto Whitney´s bed.

´I´m sure he won't mind if I spend one night in his bed. ' Rainsford thought, praying Whitney would not wake up to see a nearly nude Rainsford halfway off his bed and blacked out like he had gone drinking the night prior.

He didn´t have time to dwell on it though, as his eyes closed and his sense of shame crashed and burned before he could even blink.

Chapter 2: An Unwanted Memory

Summary:

After falling asleep in Whitney’s (his future wife’s) bed, Rainsford wakes up from a terrible memory disguised as a dream, and panics. Whitney wakes from the commotion, and comforts our protagonist dearly.

Rainsford, tired of being tortured by his own brain, is unable to relay much information to our ML, before falling back into a dreamless state.

When he wakes, however, he is struck right in the face with his own shame (and lust…) when he realizes Whitney had fallen asleep while holding him, while the man was only in his undergarments, and while Rainsford himself was clad in only a towel that was riding treacherously low on his hips.

Notes:

Yippe….yippe….yippee….i love multi level marketing…. (Falls asleep)

Thunder crashed and lightning flashed as Rainsford ran. He had been running for who knows how long, all he knew was that Zaroff had been injured by him, and that he had a limited amount of time to get as far away from Zaroff´s residence as he could until he would be stalked once more. He now had a bit of an advantage, the harsh rain covering up his footprints, and if Zaroff decided to take out his hounds, his scent would be washed away by the rain beating down on him like bullets.

But he knew with a sickening certainty, that would not stop the deranged General. Zaroff was inhumane, and if he thought about it, perhaps inhuman as well. With dead eyes and sharp teeth, he looked vampiric.

His boots stomped against the ground as he ran at a break-neck pace, his heart thudding against his chest and beating in his ears as sharp tangles of briers latched onto him like nets one would use to capture a fleeing animal. He resisted against their hold, watching as they snapped and tore.

It was as if the very forest itself resented him, sharp branches tore at him as he sprinted, large leaves blinding his way, his only guiding light being the sharp flashes that shot through the sky, giving him less than a second to memorize his surroundings lest he fall into another pit of skin-shredding thorns.

His feet had gone numb hours ago, and his calves burned from his incessant running. Thank gods for the small mercy Zaroff had shown him by giving him proper hunting clothes, for if he had gone out in the crisp suit he had started in, he would be in pieces.

There was greenery everywhere, not even a glimpse of something different managed to penetrate through the lush foliage. Perhaps a blooming flower would appear once in a while, though it wasn´t like he could enjoy its beauty now.

The adrenaline that had once sung through his veins had given way to an aching exhaustion, every bone in his body feeling like it would crumble if he took another step. He tried to persist, to resist the tiredness that darkened his vision, but he could not go on anymore, and his body slumped against a winding tree as his fatigue claimed him.

 

✧✧✧

 

Rainsford woke with a start; as thunder crashed outside. The room was pitch black, he couldn´t even see his hand which was mere inches from his face.

He let out a shrill scream as another bout of thunder crashed. He could feel his fear deep in his bones, but he couldn´t tell memory from reality. Was he still hidden beneath a tree like he had been when he collapsed? No, that couldn´t be. He was sitting on a plush bed, pillows cushioning his sides when he had sprung up from his sleep. Could it be that Zaroff had found him, and this was a new game he was playing? His hands clutched his face as he began to sob loudly.

His breath hitched and sputtered as he tried to bury himself into his hands, tears pooling in his eyes like raindrops, and falling just as quickly. He was a grown man sobbing like a little boy, but he was too drained to even care at this point. Who cares if he cried a little? He wasn't going to last long on that god-foresaken island---

He was snapped out of his spiraling when a pair of hands gripped his wrists, making his overworked brain stammer. His unhinged cries faltered when he felt the bed dip by his side, the added weight of another human bearing down on the soft mattress. Tears still streamed like a river with a broken dam, sliding down his skin and soaking the soft blanket in his lap.

¨RAINSFORD--¨

Whitney´s voice pierced through the ringing in his ears, clear and stark against the tempest of emotions swirling inside of him. The weight of Whitney´s hands grounded him as he tore his own away and wrapped them around his neck, burying his face into Whitney´s chest.

If he was in the right state of mind, he would have never dared to even let the other man see tears prick in his eyes, let alone sob into his chest. But after going through much in only the span of a few days, he had no pride left to protect his already substantially depleted supply of dignity.

Whitney froze for a moment, though as soon as another crash of thunder made Rainsford tense again he quickly wrapped his own arms around Rainsford's shoulders.

¨Rainsford…¨ Whitney sighed, he had been woken up by Rainsford´s cry, then risen by Rainsford´s sobbing. He had not a clue what had happened, and he was still in the dark. But he had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with Ship-Trap Island.

¨Rainsford, you have never been scared to tears by a storm in your life.¨ Whitney said, though it was more to himself than anything. Rainsford was still clinging, his blunt fingertips dug into the back of Whitney´s neck, but he paid that no mind as he rubbed the disturbed man's back, his other hand migrating up to hold the back of Rainsford´s head to his chest.

Whitney´s soft breath rustled Rainsford´s now dry hair, the almost unnoticeable sensation a balm to Rainsford´s battered soul.

Thunder still clapped in the distance, but Whitney´s weight and warmth quieted the choked sobs.

¨Rainsford, tell me, what exactly happened on that island?¨ Whitney said after getting Rainsford to calm to some degree, still stroking his back. Rainsford froze, heart stilling in his chest. Though, why shouldn´t Whitney know? The man had tended to his wounds without a second thought, the man who had gone searching for him as soon as he noticed his disappearance.
The man who had stuck with him through thick and thin, the man that had hunted with him, and now the man who consoled him in his hysteria.

Whitney had a right to know, even if it hurt Rainsford to say it out loud.

¨I…¨ He stuttered, throat raw and raspy from crying into Whitney´s bare chest. He couldn´t have slept long, for as soon as he terror left his body, that dreadful feeling of weariness crept back into his skull, the pressure of it behind his eyes making them droop.

¨He hunted me.¨ He said simply, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, as if admitting what had happened to him didn´t hurt him on the inside. He tightened his arms around Whitney´s neck a pinch, praying he would not notice.

Whitney did not have time to notice, for as soon as Rainsford uttered those words, Whitney felt his blood run cold.

¨Who…!?¨ Whitney demanded, the chill in his veins turning to hot magma as rage soon filled him.

¨Tell me who it is so I can tear out his throat! I´ll!--¨

¨He´s already dead. I gutted him like a fish.¨ Rainsford was quick to interject, though no pride shone in his voice, only a cold acknowledgement.

Whitney did not speak after that, but his grip on Rainsford tightened.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled in each other´s arms. Neither the broken man nor his savior slept until sunrise that night, they were unable to. So they did what they did best, stayed quiet in each other's presence.

 

✧✧✧

 

Pale strips of light stirred Rainsford from his dreamless slumber, his body comfortable and pliant for the first time in nearly five days. The room was fairly warm on its own, but whatever he was pressed against radiated heat deliciously. It was pressed against his right, an arm wrapped around his back cradling his left, it was delightful, though that delight soured into terror when he finally opened his contented eyes and lying beside him was not a heater—but Whitney himself.

Rainsford tensed at the realization, his breath seizing in his throat as he turned towards the man pressed against his body, his face pale as a wave of dread crashed over him.

Not only had the night prior not been a dream, but it had been the most egregious moment in his life.

His face turned a dark shade of crimson when he looked down at himself. Not only has he comforted by another man, but he had been comforted by another man whilst in nothing more than a towel!

Shame pooled deep in his belly as he quickly clutched the soft fabric in his palm, keeping the flimsy thing from slipping down any further, his dastardly gaze creeping back over Whitney’s form, his unseemly condition doing nothing to help their situation, but it did churn Rainsford’s stomach, and spread the heat in his cheeks down his neck.

He had clearly startled Whitney with his night terrors, the poor fellow was still half curled around him when he had awoken. Whitney always had a habit of waking before the sun, and now as beams of soft light infiltrated their shared space, it was clear he had slept naught.

Rainsford’s body creaked as he stood, his joints protesting the movement, and his legs still ached from the night prior. He didn’t know what to do with his body for quite some time as he stood at the foot of the bed, attempting to will the burning emotion from his features.

This day was going to be absolutely dreadful. How was he possibly going to explain what had happened? What—was he supposed to tell Whitney that he, the infamous hunter Sanger Rainsford, had foolishly fallen off the yacht to then wash up on a psychotic man-killers island and inevitably have to slaughter him to survive and now he could not even bear to look into the eyes of a mountain lion he had mounted on his wall himself? Obviously not.

Even now, as he laid in bed with the soft expression he wore when he was asleep, his lips parted faintly, the slow rise and fall of his chest barely noticeable, he looked peaceful. As if none of the world’s horrors could touch him at that moment. Rainsford would not ruin that tranquility with the horrors he had experienced on that god forsaken island.

The red on his cheeks did not leave.

Rainsford kept his head down as he walked down the hall, both hands now fisted in the soft white towel. He didn't look up, even as the door to his room opened by his own hand. His stomach still churned faintly at the thought of the taxidermy high on the wall, but his determination to clothe himself powered through. He didn´t bother dressing up, there was no occasion to be at. Instead, he donned a pair of simple cream trousers, a plain dress shirt, a pair of slippers, and a wine colored robe, grabbed a few extra pairs of clothing to put by the door, and stepped out.

Before he could reach the bathroom after he exited into the hallway, he was stopped dead in his tracks by the man he now dreaded most, Whitney. Like Rainsford, he was dressed down for the morning, likely also having risen moments ago.

Whitney´s face was calm, not a trace of discontent on his brow, but just because Whitney´s expression held no malice, did not mean that was what he held in his heart.

Rainsford was at a loss for words when he looked at Whitney, his usual greeting stuck deep in his throat as he stared blankly into Whitney´s eyes. He only snapped out of it when Whitney spoke.

¨Breakfast is out, I hope that you will join me.¨ Whitney asked, voice measured. When Rainsford stayed silent, Whitney fixed his collar, and made his way towards the dining room. It didnt take long for him to make his way down as well, for he´d rather get the incoming torture over with than lengthen his agony.

 

✧✧✧

 

The dining room was by no means cramped, but it did not compare to any of the men´s estates. The table was not terribly long, it could fit a large family comfortably. As per usual, both Rainsford and Whitney were seated across from each other, which on any other day would make the men´s conversations easier to articulate, but today, the thought of speaking to Whitney like they had only a week or so ago made his appetite shrivel up and die.

Neither man spoke while Whitney pushed his food about on his plate, doing his best to make it seem like he found his breakfast appetizing. The food itself was tasteful, bread, a plate of fluffy buttermilk pancakes, a mushroom spinach omelet for Whitney, and bacon eggs benedict for Rainsford.

Finally, someone spoke.

¨Did you rest well?¨ Whitney asked, fork in hand. His soft, curly hair had been tied back into a lazy pony, giving off an air of laxity. The question made the bite of egg in his mouth sour further. Did he sleep well? Of course he slept well! It was probably the best damn sleep he´d had in months. The warmth of Whitney´s body against his cheek had put him to sleep like a baby, and the shame he felt for it was immeasurable.

¨I slept fine.¨ He said, jaw tense. He made a show of being full even though his plate was still covered in food, dusting the imaginary dust off his lap as he stood.

¨I´m going to head up to the deck.¨ his slippers patted away as he made his way out of the room, and up the stairs.

The sun was shining when Rainsford stepped out onto the dock, the tropical breeze blowing his hair back. The waves were calmer than usual, the lack of clouds meaning Rainsford was being perpetually pelted by the sun's rays. It was a nice morning, but unfortunately for Rainsford, that didn´t matter.

His choice of seat was at the front of the ship, no shade to cover him. He had to squint when he looked at the water, the reflection blinding him for a moment before he decided to lay back and close his eyes.

Chapter 3: Truths of the Heart

Summary:

“Would you call it sinful if I felt it too, Sanger?”

 

After avoiding Whitney all day, and not even dining with him, Whitney has had enough of Rainsford’s nonsense.

He will not leave until he gets an answer for his childish behavior.

Notes:

Sorry for the wait! I forgot to update lmfao….ALSO CHECK THE LAST CHAPTER I ADDED TO IT

When he woke from his nap, the sun was still high in the sky, though the clouds had closed in. His skin prickled from the cool breeze, the warmth of the sun had seeped deep into his bones, his body hotter than before.

He rubbed his back as he sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. The waves had grown choppy, the sound of the yacht cutting through the water the only noise he noticed.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand clasp his shoulder, a familiar one at that.

¨One day till Rio, urgh, thank god, I'm starting to feel seasick.¨ Whitney smiled, eyes gazing out at the water. The soft pressure of his palm made Rainsford straighten, hands fit neatly in his lap. Though he waited for Whitney to speak, his mind not able to come up with a sufficient response quick enough.

¨Oh, and I, mn….¨ Whitney cleared his throat gently, his hands grip slipping.

¨I cancelled our hunting trip. I didn't wan…..¨ he trailed off, hand falling off Rainsford's shoulder completely. He turned to face Rainsford when he sat in the chair beside him, hand in his pocket.

¨Thank you.¨ Rainsford´s voice finally punctured the imaginary stone lodged in his throat, his usually rich voice cracked and strained. The growl that emitted from Rainsford´s stomach was ignored in favor of gazing out at the water.

The silence was peaceful for quite a while, the two men content with laying back and watching the water, no matter how much Rainsford´s mind cringed at the thought of being close to Whitney once more.

After a bit of neutral lounging, the wind picked up suddenly, the edges of Rainsford´s robe and pant legs blowing uncomfortably. A few minutes passed, Rainsford praying the irritable sensation would vanish, before inevitably it grew to be too much and forced him up.

Couldn´t the world leave him alone?! First he´d been thrown off the very boat he stood on, then met a madman, and now he couldn't even look Whitney in the eye because of the idiotic feeling that spread in his chest alongside his dread.

The walk to the living room was bleak, the soft rocking of the boat causing him to stumble slightly.

His stomach growled when he arrived, the box of oysterettes by the counter calling to him like a siren.

He peacefully tucked himself into the eiderdown he favored when lying, even if the blanket made him sweat from the tropical heat. The thin box of crackers nestled comfortably in his lap as he ate languidly. He had turned the record player on, a mellow song rumbling through the walls.

The sun gradually went down as he snacked, the red and orange ombre that replaced the cloudy blue slowly growing darker by the minute.

The Oysterette box emptied quickly, the now folded box thrown onto the carpeted floor.

´A steward will get that.´ he thought, leaning back. As soon as he did, the door creaked open, revealing the tall form of Whitney standing in the doorway.

¨Rainsford, dinner is being prepared.¨ He stood still, staring at Rainsford.

¨I'm not hungry, Whitney.¨ Rainsford sighed, shifting slightly in his seat, stopping the record player, the music cutting out.

Whitney didn't move, his calm expression shifting to annoyance, a rare emotion to come from him.

¨Rainsford. We have to talk.¨ His tone startled Rainsford, he´d never known Whitney easily riled up, the commotion from yesterday a mere anomaly. But seeing the scrunch in his brow and the immovability of his stance, he knew this was not light business.
He hesitated for a moment before standing to meet Whitney, a hand slipped into his robe pocket.

¨You´ve been ignoring me.¨ It didn't startle Rainsford, Whitney would notice eventually. He was a fairly quiet person, but he wouldn¨t go out of his way to be silent. They always spent the evenings together, no matter how full.

It wasn´t easy for Whitney to confront Rainsford. He knew he had gone through something treacherous, but he wouldn't let his best friend slip away from him after doing his best to save him.

¨Dont lie to me, Rainsford. I've known you for years, I know your habits just as well as I know mine. You are purposefully distancing yourself from me, and for what? Was it something I did?¨

The hand in Rainsford´s pocket clenched, his nose wrinkling slightly.

"No. Obviously not.¨ He couldn't think of anything else to say. Yes, of course it had to have been what Whitney did, but it wasn´t his fault.

“Is it because of what happened on the island?-” the question slipped out, Whitney clearly having been wondering for all this time. He knew next to nothing, only enough to know whatever had happened was not for the faint of heart.

“No.” Again, Rainsford answered snippily, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Then is it--” Whitney paused for a moment, the frustration on his face morphing into one of dejection.

“Is it because of last night?” He said softly, before swiftly interrupting any attempt from Rainsford to speak.

“Is it so wrong for you to be vulnerable with me? Am I not allowed to comfort you? Is it truly so terrible for me to hold you?” Whitney stepped closer, Rainsford’s feet planted firmly in the carpet, that damnable feeling spreading in his chest once more.

“Tell me Rainsford, is it me? Am I the reason for this push back? I've tried to give you your distance I truly have, but--”

“It’s because I’m attracted to you, Whitney.”

 

Whitney stopped dead in his tracks, thoughts blanking out. It was better to get this over with than stretch it out longer then it needed.

“I know it is a sinful feeling, Whitney. It's unnatural. The way you look, you speak, you move, its infected me--”

“Is that really what you believe, Rainsford?” Whitney stopped him, heartbreak spilling down his features.

“Do you truly believe loving me is such a sin? Is that what you see me as?” His voice wavered slightly, but he still held strong.

“Obviously not, Whitney, but we’re both men--” Rainsford dragged his hand out of his pocket, running a hand through his hair, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

“Would you call it sinful if I felt it too, Sanger?”

The words hit Rainsford like a bullet, his eyes immediately drawn to Whitney’s. The man's expression hadn’t changed, he hadn’t moved, but the weight of his dismay was palpable.

“Don’t mock me.”

“I would do no such thing.”

“Forget about this, Whitney. We land in Rio by noon tomorrow. Let us enjoy our trip--”

“Im not leaving until I get an answer, Rainsford.”

The room quieted then, silence pressing down on them both. It was clear Whitney would not back down.

“I…”

Whitney shifted on his feet, anticipating whatever Rainsford would say next.

“I would find it….I would find it unnatural.”

“And pray tell, what is the reason?” It was antagonizing, but Whitney couldn't resist asking.

“We’re both men, Whitney. What would our families say? What would the church say? Do you wish to be scorned?”

“What does it matter? Since when have you cared for the Church? Don’t kid me Rainsford. Pretend all you want, but you’ve never been religious, so don't start reciting scriptures just because I've come out and said it.” Whitney huffed, his hand migrating to his hip as Rainsford stared into his eyes, his pride had been diminished quite awfully, but he would not let himself look away.

“Does it matter what the priests think? Or our fathers? They’ll never catch us, we’re on a boat on our way to Rio. and do not tell me you’re thinking of our future. We’ve been all over, even if one town finds out, what is stopping us from moving once more?”

Whitney was right about that, of course. The two had been travelling the world on their extravagant hunting trips, and if someone did find out they could leave, or be bribed.

“Whitney, you’re not understanding what I'm saying--”

“Rainsford, stop trying to protect me.”

Rainsford was silenced, mind struggling to come up with an effective response.

“If we’re both in this together, why try to break it apart after it’s only just begun?”

“Nothing has started.”

Whitney stepped closer, the faint ghost of his breath breezing past Rainsford’s face, his voice growing soft.

“Don’t say that, Sanger.”

He reached out, hand grasping the back of his neck, before it grew bolder, cradling the back of his neck, two fingers rubbing a few baby hairs there between them.

Rainsford’s face, which previously only had a light dusting of pink on it, was now painfully red, heat radiating off him.

Not a word was uttered before Whitney was upon him, spare arm wrapped tight around his waist.

He pushed him backwards, Rainsford’s legs slowly inched towards the couch, before he was inevitably pushed down onto it.

They broke apart then, Whitney looking down at Rainsford, a small sliver of saliva trailing down his lip that just barely touched his chin.

“Would you like to keep--?” He was cut off by Rainsford grabbing the collar of his shirt, pulling him down into another sweet kiss.

The wet sounds of their kisses filled the room, the tie of Rainsford’s robe loosening under the squirming of Rainsford’s body. Whitney’s spare hand released Rainsford’s waist, roaming over his body, pushing the sides of his robes further apart, until they settled on his chest, squeezing.

A moan slipped out of Rainsford at first, the experimental sensation sending a jolt down his body.

Whitney stopped for a moment to recuperate, pupils dilated.

He moved his head down then, giving Rainsford time to breathe, before pressing his mouth to his neck and biting.

His tongue flicked out, pulling a fevered gasp from Rainsford, his chest heaving as he panted. With each new mark Whitney left, Rainsford flinched, pressing a hand over his mouth to avoid making any more unnecessary sounds.

Embarrassment flooded Rainsford’s body as his neck tingled in all the spots Whitney had tasted, his fingers splitting just enough for him to breathe properly.

“You’ve always been such a looker, Rainsford.” Whitney murmured, hands abandoning their positions and reaching for the button of his pants before Rainsford could stop him.

“Whitney!” he yelped, Whitney’s head snapping up, his hands already pulling Rainsford’s pants down his thighs.

“I—Gods, Whitney, slow down…”

He brushed the stray hair out of his eyes, Whitney’s hands slowly fixing Rainsford’s pants, pulling them up over his hips and fastening the button once more.
Whitney settled for lying on Rainsford’s chest, the excess heat slowly easing out of his body as they laid together. The sun had fully set by then, a hungry growl ripping itself from Whitney’s stomach.

“Dinner?” Rainsford asked, patting Whitney’s back, hand sliding off when he sat up.

“If you’re up for it.” Whitney smiled, lips redder than usual. He carefully slid off Rainsford, letting the man stand up and tighten his robe once more. However, unfortunately for Rainsford, his neck was littered with marks, impossible to hide with an unfastened collar.

Whitney, fixing his own, quickly noticed the mess he had left, while Rainsford stood before him oblivious to his state of disarray.

It pulled a gentle laugh from his chest which slowly eased into a grin as he ran his hands down Rainsford’s neck, and buttoned him up.

They walked side by side down the hall, hands grazing until Rainsford ruthlessly tucked his into his pocket.

Chapter 4: A Succulent Meal

Summary:

“Is it a crime to enjoy a meal….a succulent Chinese meal??!?!!” -democracy manifest guy

Notes:

WORK IN PROGRESS!!!! I’m in school and writing two stories so it’s a bit stress full, updates are sparse too so….sorry about the late update!

When they reached the dining room, a steward was swiftly informed—by a terribly sly Whitney—that the two of them wished to dine on the deck instead. The orders were quickly relayed to the waiter mostly in charge of delivering their meals, who had been waiting to bring his boss their food.

When they finally reached the deck after a leisurely walk, the waiter was still setting their table, adjusting their utensils just right.

“Thank you, Ashley.” Whitney hummed, rummaging through his chest pocket until he found a sizable tip and placed it into the boy’s hand.

“I know what sheik young men like you get up too, don't spend it all when we get to shore!” Whitney barked, patting the man on his shoulder as he walked past. His face flushed pink, knowing what Whitney meant.

The way Whitney acted now irritated Rainsford to no end. They had kissed less than an hour ago, and now Whitney was treating him like a lady, as if he wasn’t a fully grown man capable of pulling out his own chair when he went to sit. It was anarchy what Whitney was doing, but deep down, Rainsford couldn't get himself to refuse Whitney’s smaller advances, though the bigger ones were a different story.

Veal marsala was the chef’s choice of entreé, chosen from a menu carefully tailored to both of the men’s tastes. Rainsford particularly enjoyed it for the mound of cremini mushrooms the chef always knew to add to his plate. They were terribly mouthwatering on their own, but doused in the sweet marsala sauce their flavors addicting.

Of course, before either one of them touched their main dish, they splurged on appetizers. Stuffed mushrooms, canapés topped with caviar, and a small plate of deviled eggs for Whitney littered the table.

The waves clashed behind them, the soothing sound adding to the soft ambiance. Whitney had always been a picture perfect gentleman, calm, orderly, behaved. Though now, as Rainsford curled pasta around his fork, a certain deviant's hand crawled onto his thigh before his bite could even reach his mouth. Lately, it was as if the gallant Whitney had been replaced with a pervert.

Even worse, once they were in the clear of any peeping eyes, Whitney attempted to feed him! How improper!

 

✧✧✧

 

The couch was cramped,